Ghost Stories
by Nontacitare
Summary: An early encounter between Dalamar and Jenna. Disclaimer: I did not invent Krynn or any of the places mentioned therein, or the characters of Dalamar and Jenna.


"Ghost Stories"

"Come on, Jenna. It has to be you. You know why."

The seven-year-old glared at her friends. "It wasn't my idea, you know. If you think it's so brilliant, why don't you ask him?"

Thomas, older than Jenna by three years and the current leader of the Wayreth brats (a term Jenna hated), sighed and repeated, "You are the only child of the Head of the Conclave of Wizards. Because of your father, he wouldn't dare do anything to you. Besides, you know him already."

Jenna narrowed her grey eyes. People were always assuming that being the daughter of Lord Justarius of Wayreth brought her special privileges. In fact, it meant that everyone knew who she was, which in turn required her to be on her best behavior at all times lest she shame her father's order or mage society in general. It was very annoying. She did have to admit that she had met the wizard in question. After all, when the heads of the Orders met for dinner in Justarius' apartments, it was Jenna, along with Katyana, the ward of the Head of the Order of White Robes, who served the meal.

"It's presuming an awful lot," she snapped.

"Look," said Thomas. "He'd probably turn me into a slug or something. You're the only one who can do this."

"What's the matter, Jenna?" piped up another boy. "Are you afraid?"

Jenna haughtily refused to dignify that with an answer. She was seriously thinking of simply walking away from the lot of them when a girl her own age squealed, "He's coming." Thomas and two other children gave Jenna a push and then scurried to join the others hiding behind the pillars in the corridor. The little girl suddenly found herself alone and about to face the most powerful evil wizard on Krynn, the Head of the Order of Black Robes, the Master of the cursed Tower of High Sorcery of Palanthas, Dalamar Nightson.

He took no notice of the child until she called to him by name. As the black-robed elf stopped abruptly to look down at her, Jenna felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Grimly, she vowed to herself that she would one day be a very powerful sorceress who would turn Thomas and the rest into slugs all by herself. She dropped a curtsey to the high-ranking wizard and waited.

Jenna, with her arms folded and head bowed, stood in such perfect imitation of an apprentice mage that Dalamar had to suppress a smile. She was a pretty, well-mannered girl, exactly what one would expect of the offspring of Justarius and Melora. "What is it, child? Do you have a message from your father?"

"No, my lord," Jenna answered, wondering how she was to deliver her request without sounding like an utter fool.

Dalamar raised an eyebrow. "From your mother, then?"

"No, my lord," she said again. Jenna could tell that the wizard was beginning to lose patience with her. She steeled herself, and told him in a voice filled with a confidence she did not feel, "I was sent by the other children."

"The Wayreth b- the children of Wayreth have a message for me and you are their emissary?" The dark elf was politely incredulous.

"Yes, my lord." Jenna took a deep breath, and then continued nonchalantly, as if it were perfectly normal for seven-year-old girls to be conversing with evil sorcerers, "We were telling ghost stories when it occurred to someone that you would surely know many tales, as you live in a haunted tower."

For one of the few times in his long life, the black-robed wizard was genuinely taken aback. The children of Wayreth dared ask him to tell them ghost stories?

"And how did you come to be the messenger?"

"The other children are afraid of you," Jenna replied scornfully. "As I am not."

"Indeed," Dalamar said wryly. He suspected the real reason Jenna had been chose was due more to her father's position than her own supposed lack of fear. Still, the girl had shown a great deal of courage in approaching him.

"I told them, my lord, that you were far too busy to be bothered with such frivolous matters." Jenna's tone was so haughty, and she was so obviously proud of herself for sounding grown-up, that Dalamar's lips twitched in a ghost of a smile.

His first thought was to dismiss the child, but considered that the Lady Melora had been after him to participate more in Wayreth society. Perhaps he could spare a quarter hour. It was true that he knew a fair number of frightening stories, precautionary tales told to his apprentices to keep them from making the sort of foolish mistakes that in the high magics could get them killed. As an elf, Dalamar did not understand human children, who were young one day and old the next and who, present company usually excepted, were woefully ill-mannered. Nonetheless, he took some pride in his ability to keep his apprentices enthralled with his lessons, and what were children, after all, but very short apprentices?

"I may know a tale or two," the wizard allowed with a smile. Jenna's eyes widened - she had clearly not been expecting a positive response - but she led him back to the other children. Dalamar noted with some amusement how skillfully the seven-year-old parlayed her success into improving her status with the other children.

The Wayreth brats were an attentive audience, and Dalamar soon warmed to the task. True, after the first story, a very pale Katyana excused herself, but the rest of the children hung

on his every word.

Jenna found herself as caught up as the others in the tales spun by the dark elf. Wayreth slipped away as the girl felt herself present in each ghastly episode. She knew that she would experience nightmares that evening (and possibly for the rest of her life), but could not tear herself away. Peripherally, she noticed her mother, smiling slightly, come to listen to the Head of the Order of Black Robes as he entertained the children of the Tower of Wayreth, but did not notice the smile drop from her mother's face. Then, as Dalamar was describing how the Live One pulled the beating, bleeding heart from the open chest of the

still conscious apprentice, Lady Melora broke in. "A word with you, Master Dalamar."

"In a moment, my lady. I'm.."

"Now, if you please." Jenna knew that tone well - it had been used on her often enough - but she didn't know that it was also effective on Conclave Wizards. Jenna never learned what passed between the two adults, but that was the end of Dalamar's

very brief storytelling career. As for the children, they had a

new-found respect for the Head of the Black-Robes. And most of

them did stop having nightmares - eventually.


End file.
